


The Game

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Cancer, Gen, Lucas being an asshole, trickery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:06:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: What would Lucas do if someone actually wanted to die?





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> A very short story I rattled off after a conversation on Tumblr

His latest victim was fucking weird, and coming from Lucas that was saying something.

He'd tossed the man into the puzzle room half an hour ago, and since then he'd done…..fucking nothing.

Lucas watched the screen with slowly growing frustration. He wasn't unreasonable. He accepted that the man needed to take stock of his situation and get a grip on himself, but to do  _ nothing whatsoever? _

He'd taken a cursory look around then just sat, his back against the stove, staring into space.

Lucas drummed his fingers on the desk, finally giving in and switching on the intercom.

“Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Look a little lively in there!”

“Or what?” the man responded gloomily.

Temporarily lost for words, Lucas stared.

“Dontcha wanna escape?” he managed finally.

“Not really,” replied the man. “There's nothing out there for me. Do your worst.”

Do his worst? The man had no idea what Lucas’s worst was.

Lucas counted to 10, then spoke as calmly as he could.

“Listen up. You do not wanna fuck with me, buddy. I am your worst fuckin’ nightmare, an’ if you don't get your ass up and solve the fuckin’ puzzle y’all are gonna find yourself in hot water. Now get movin’!”

The man considered this for a while, then shook his head.

“No. I don't think I will. Just leave me here to die.”

The man curled himself up in a ball and refused to say anything further.

 

Lucas went outside and smashed up some crates. When he'd finished, he composed himself and went back inside, picking splinters from his knuckles.

“What's the problem buddy? You seem a little down. Anythin’ I can do to help?”

The man raised his head from the floor.

“You can't help. Nobody can. It's cancer. Too far progressed. It's eating me up inside. All I've got to look forward to are a few months of coughing up blood wired up to machines. So go fuck yourself. I'm not doing your fucking puzzle just to survive.”

He lay back down.

Lucas grinned.

“Don't give up hope yet! There's always light at the end o’ the tunnel!”

 

Ray looked up as the metal door opened. That skinny fucker in the hoodie was back, no doubt to slap him around a bit. Well, let him. May as well die now as later.

“Hey! Sit up, man…..” The man was poking him with long skinny fingers.

“Fuck off,” retorted Ray. “Or kill me. One or the other.”

“Sorry, but I ain't doin’ neither. Keep yer pecker up, buddy, I got somethin’ for ya!”

Ray felt a sharp pain in his arm, and jerked despite himself. What the fuck?

He lifted his head in time to see the hillbilly asshole using his thumb to depress the plunger of the syringe he'd stabbed into his arm.

“What the fuck was that?” demanded Ray, angry about the abuse of his personal space but not really worried. Whatever shit he'd injected him with, it had to be better than the slow death that already awaited him.

“You’ll see. The answer to all yer problems. Except yer shitty attitude. Can't help you with that.”

Ray grunted and turned his head away.

Within minutes, a strange feeling was pervading his body as whatever was in the syringe travelled around using his bloodstream for transport. It tingled in a weird way that was not entirely unpleasant but also not entirely natural.

“How ya feelin’?” asked the man, still crouched alongside him.

Ray hesitated. There was a warmth in his chest, crawling across his ruined lungs like millions of microscopic fingers. The constant pain he'd been feeling began to ease, his lungs beginning to fill with air, the muck he'd been struggling to breathe around for so long suddenly not a hindrance.

He sat up, trying to get used to the sensation.

“What did you do?” he whispered in wonder. “It doesn't hurt any more!”

“There ya go! I told ya there was hope. Give it another half hour or so, that fuckin’ cancer should be completely gone!” The weird guy's eyes burned in the dimness, watching him heal.

“That's not possible….” protested Ray, but his lungs were telling him differently.

He took a deep breath, his lungs filling to capacity for the first time in ages. He took another.

“Oh my god!” He laughed. “It's true! You've cured me!”

Tears of gratitude  stung his eyes. He was going to live!

“Thank you so much!”

The skinny guy smiled and slapped him chummily on the shoulder.

“No problem, buddy. Least I could do.”

“How can I ever repay you?”

The man stood up, his scrawny shoulders hunched.

“You can repay me by doin’ the fuckin’ puzzle!” he said, retreating through the metal door and slamming it shut. His fingers curled round the bars as he peered in at Ray. “All you gotta do is light the candle an’ put it on the cake.”

Ray picked up the candle, looking through the darkened doorway to where the cake stood, and set off with renewed vigour.

How hard could it be?


End file.
